


Dragon Dance

by RenderedReversed



Series: Legend Has It [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, M/M, POV First Person, Pokémon White AU, but he's too busy bringing down a criminal organization to date you, tfw you're trying to woo the Beautiful Boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-16 12:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: Over the course of his first Pokémon journey, Thor grows up, meets a boy, falls in love, takes down a criminal organization deadset on taking over the entire region, and…gets his jacket stolen.Not necessarily in that order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> no consistent writing style we die like men!!!

They say Castelia is the center of Unova—the crowning jewel. Mistralton, the wings, and Opelucid the heart.

But everyone knows Nimbasa is the city that never sleeps.

Loki was brilliant beneath the fairground lights. For a moment I did not believe him there at all—a figment of my imagination, or a mirage perhaps—but when he did not fade after a heart’s beat, I knew he was real and pushed my way through the crowd towards the three-tier carousel.

His expression was disturbed. In it, I saw a disquiet that ached...not in _his_ heart, but mine.

“Loki,” I called.

He turned his head and the shadows weaved.

“Thor,” he said simply. And then, “Are you here to challenge the gym?”

“A little sightseeing first. The last time I came here, I was eight. A lot’s changed.”

“I see.” He gazed at the carousel for a moment before turning back around. “I suppose you want to battle.”

I remember musing on this quirk of Loki’s then. Unlike other trainers, he never seemed itching for a battle, even when he offered. In fact, _Loki_ was the one who usually challenged _me_ when we met, and yet, I always felt he had some other goal in mind. It was as if the battle was a mere means to an end, a courtesy and possible necessity, and if so he would do it grudgingly.

Normally I would accept. Regardless of his methodology, Loki was a talented trainer. However…

This time, I felt it must be different. I had not seen him since I had begged him to teach me, and that had been long ago, but even with all the time that had passed, he and I were no longer strangers.

Once bitten, twice shy; he had rejected me once, called me a scoundrel in not so many words and stolen my jacket on top of that, but now…

I wondered if it was permissable to be a little bolder.

If he would steal yet another article of clothing and mock in reproach—

—Or smile, sly and coquettish and quite possibly sweet, in such a way that would endear him irrevocably to my heart.

“I’ve improved quite a bit,” I said, suddenly eager to find out. “And I hope to show you. This time, let’s have another bet.”

The curl of his lip was encouraging. “Oh? Let’s hear it, then. I don’t suppose you’ll bet another leather jacket, would you?”

“As good as my clothes look on you—” and here I made a point to drag my gaze across the aforementioned pilfered jacket, which hung several sizes too big upon his tiny frame. Loki had the gall to feign innocence and I quite wanted to scoop the look off his face and lick it up with a spoon.

“—No, not quite. But the fairgrounds would make an excellent place for a date, wouldn’t it?”

I held my breath, but I needn’t have.

Loki’s smile turned full. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and said coyly, “A little interesting. I’m afraid it’d be too unfair, however. How would you be so sure I’d seriously try to win with a prize as sweet as that for losing?”

I’d miscalculated.

In the game of who-can-tease-who-the-most, it was impossible for the fifteen-year-old me to be Loki’s match.

My heart stuttered. “Loki!” I sputtered, feeling very cross.

That was unfair. He knew I liked him on first sight, it was no secret, but I had not thought his initial disdain would change so easily. Now his laughter was joyous and completely at my expense. I felt the toy at the other end of his cat’s paw, but at least—I thought privately to myself—if how he leaned closer was any indication, this toy was of great interest to him, and I would not be at a loss.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere less crowded. Since you were such a dedicated student, as your teacher, it’d be remiss of me to hold back.”

He beckoned, and I followed.

Still, I had my pride.

“What would you like then, if you win?”

I was almost unsure he had heard, had it not been for the tilt of his head. Loki did not answer for a long time.

“I…”

I waited.

Then, however, Loki smiled, close-lipped and coy. “I’ll tell you later.”

Somehow, that answer didn’t come as a surprise.

“If that’s how you want to play it.”

He drew his PokéBall, and I drew mine.

“It’s yours, Honchkrow!”

“Jolteon, let’s go!”

 

It was impossible to win after all.

Even though I had trained and trained, it was inevitable that Loki still had the greater experience between us. What experience that _was_ , I didn’t know at the time, but it was obvious when we first met and it was obvious now. The only concession was that the gap between us was closing, and we both knew it—I had come much closer to victory than last time, when I hadn’t even been able to fathom his Honchkrow’s strength. Now, Loki felt a little less untouchable.

Something had changed there, too.

“Must be nice,” he said, stroking a hand through Jolteon’s fur.

“What?”

“To trust someone so completely.”

I got the distinct impression that Loki was not speaking to me.

After a moment, he looked up and said, “That’s one thing I envy Pokémon for. To them, everything is so simple—to love, or not to love, and nothing else matters other than that. Circumstances? What’s right and what’s wrong? They aren’t troubled by such things. That must be what true freedom feels like.”

The thought came to me then. Without thinking much of anything, I said, “At the same time, I think I prefer the complexities of being a human.”

Loki stared.

“Because it feels…rewarding?” I tried to explain. “Jolteon loves deeply, but there are joys she can’t understand: how it feels to fight for what you believe in, happiness borne from sadness…meeting someone, and looking forward to seeing how it goes. Love that’s gone through trials, like fighting and leaving but still coming back together again. The love between people.”

Fifteen years was not a long time to see a lot, but I was not deprived of love; I saw it in my parents, the spaces that it filled and the spaces that it hollowed. The things I saw held a power all their own—a power I could not yet comprehend but sensed the significance of. I tried to describe that ‘sense’, that feeling or hunch that felt so profound. Love I knew was important to the core: there was nothing stronger, nothing more moving, and though I did not quite understand why at that time, my soul said I was not wrong.

Loki opened his mouth. Then, he closed it.

I wondered, what sort of things had my answer compelled him to think about?

In the end, he showed a complicated expression and said, “Maybe that’s true.”

And then I thought of us, the diffident desire that had thumped in my chest ever since the first rejection, the way it fluttered with all the hope of a Vivillion seeking spring—a matching pattern, a matching heart—and at that, I flushed and felt like burying my head in the sand.

Would he have taken that the wrong way? An attempt to court affection, when I had simply spoken from the heart?

“Thor,” Loki said, and I did not know when he had gotten so close, but now there he was, tugging lightly on my sleeve, saying, “Take me on a date.”

It was a sight, a sound, a dream so infinitely lovely, I nearly forgot to say yes.

As we walked along the fairgrounds, Loki eased out of his melancholy to something more…playful. Childish.

He teased, pointed, adopted a whimsical manner that gave him almost a fae-like countenance. I took comfort in seeing this Loki again; the heavy sense of something lurking over his shoulders disappeared. I myself forgot about Team Plasma, hell-bent on taking over the region and causing as much damage as they could to the relationships between people and Pokémon. That trouble was for another day. What would come would come.

All I wanted was to spend time with Loki now, here, in the present.

When the crowd grew thicker, I took his hand and said, “So you don’t run off on me,” half-joking, wholly expecting him to either snort or tease and pull away.

Instead, Loki let go and linked our arms together.

“If I run somewhere, I’ll just pull you with me. Look, let’s go in there.”

He pointed. I stared. A haunted house? I had no particular fear of ghosts and was even a little excited. Didn’t the movies always show a boy and a girl walking into a haunted house, and the girl screaming and clinging onto the boy? They always came out closer in the end.

In retrospect, the thought was absurd; we were already linked shoulder-to-shoulder. Also, this was Loki.

I learned that day that Loki was very, very _not_ afraid of ghosts.

“I like dark types,” Loki said as we exited, several heartscales richer. I almost felt sorry for the poor haunted house trainers.

I thought of Jolteon and my own favoritism for electric types. Mother used to call me a Joltik magnet when I was little, and when I thought of that, I laughed.

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, you dark types,” I said easily. “Tricksters. Lone Absols. Also, you’re always thinking.”

Loki glared up at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad,” I said, and here I stopped, pulling him so we were off the main road and face-to-face. Loki’s brow was furrowed, a squint to his eye; all I could think was, this was exactly what I meant.

His frown grew deeper. “Well?” he demanded.

“You’re always thinking. Strategizing. I bet you’ve got a million-and-one of those plans floating around in your head; all the possibilities laid out like a tree without end. But, you know, that’s one of the things I like best about you.”

I placed my hand on his neck, pulled him closer until our foreheads knocked loudly. Loki’s face scrunched up and I laughed.

“Because you only think so much about something when you care a lot. But you’re always thinking, so you’re always caring. That’s the thing about dark types—they care the most. I think they’re truly the most loyal of the lot.”

I heard the soft intake of his breath and thought I’d overstepped my bounds for a moment, but then his expression turned shy and I knew it had been the right thing to say.

Loki’s eyes fluttered, his gaze veering to the side. I smiled, half-cajoling, half-teasing and said,

“Of course, electric types are still better.”

Loki scowled. “Annoying and clingy.”

The look on his face—I just barely held off a laugh. “What, you don’t feel the _Spark_ between us?”

“Ugggh, _no_.”

“What about my _shockingly_ good looks?”

“On the contrary, I’m suddenly revolted.”

“Ha! Re _volt_ ed!”

Loki gave a flat look. Then, he spun on his heel and began to walk away.

“Obligatory electric puns,” I said, chasing after. “I bet _you_ haven’t the room to judge. Haven’t you ever made a dark type pun before?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.” Loki sniffed. And then he said, “I’d rather you _Fling_ your accusations somewhere else.”

I paused. It took a moment, and then—

“Wait, that was definitely a pun! Loki!”

He laughed, and my heart melted a little.

 

“How do you feel about ferris wheels?”

I followed his finger over the heads of the crowd and stared. Nimbasa’s ferris wheel stood at the end of the park, overseeing the entire city. It was the main attraction of the fairgrounds—certainly on the list of ‘top 10 couple things to do in Nimbasa City’—and I had secretly hoped to ride it with Loki.

I grinned. I probably looked quite silly, but,

“I’d love to ride it with you.”

Loki looked away, but I thought I saw the slightest curve to his lips before that.

The line that was usually quite a wait passed quickly in each other’s company. Soon enough we boarded, and I felt the entirety of my being pause at the sight of him.

We’d been walking side-by-side near the entire time, but now, here was Loki, sitting across a space no wider than a couple feet, and it was dark inside the cabin. I thought I would not be able to see, but perhaps because of it, I could see even clearer—was attuned more accutely than before to every one of Loki’s movements. He pulled the drape of my old leather jacket closer around himself, doubtlessly to dissuade the chill, but all I could see was how small he was.

Loki turned to look out the window. A stray strand of hair fell from his bun. I thought I might reach out and tuck it back myself, but before I could, he had already done it for me.

Our eyes met.

“…What?”

“Just thinking,” I said, “about how lucky I was to find you here.”

Loki nibbled on his lip. I thought him dissatisfied, but then he said, “Oh, it wasn’t all luck.”

I blinked. The ferris wheel began to move. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

A thought came to me then.

“You never told me what you wanted for winning.”

“Mmm,” Loki said, tilting his head to the side. “What I want…can’t you guess?”

A little sweet, a little taunting—we ascended and the fairground lights passed through the windows of the cabin. For a moment, I saw his expression wholly: something curious in the green of his eyes, the prettiest moue to his lips. I thought, if not now, then when, and then, I took a guess.

Somehow our hands came together across the small space. I pulled him to me, and he went willingly.

Even on my lap, he waited with that pout. I might’ve laughed had I not been so utterly entranced—instead, I gave him what he wanted and kissed him then, far up high over the reach of Nimbasa’s fairy lights.

It was the sweetest I had tasted.

Our foreheads rested together. Loki’s half-lidded eyes fluttered shut. He said to me,

“Let’s run away together, Thor.”

Whatever I was expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that.

“Loki?”

“We could leave this place,” he said, “Make off like thieves in the night. We could go to Kanto. Johto. You could take the gym challenge there—battle to your heart’s content. Wouldn’t it be nice to travel together?”

Indeed, my heart yearned the more he spoke, and yet…

All the responsibility and motivation that I had temporarily set aside returned. Odin’s expectations, _my_ expectations for myself. And still, Team Plasma was very present. If they were not stopped, who knew how many more people would suffer from having their Pokémon separated from them…who knew how many more crimes they would commit…

I was only fifteen. A trainer with a little over a decade’s worth of experience. Still wet behind the ears, as some gym leaders would say. What could I do? But if that question need be asked, and the problem itself wasn’t being solved, then any action would be better than non-action. I could do something. I _would_ do something.

Because I had already determined to do whatever I could to stop them no matter what, I could not.

Loki smiled…and sighed.

“Too righteous for your own good,” he said fondly. “I knew you’d say no, but I can’t even be cross with you—that’s one of the reasons why I like you, after all; that great big heart of yours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was just a thought of mine.”

He said it like that, but his face still turned away. I swallowed and held him close to me—when had I grown so familiar with him that I knew when he was hurting? And when, when had the idea of my own inability to do something about it hurt _me_ so much?

Loki squeezed back. He tucked his head in the crook of my neck and breathed in as if bolstering his courage, and then, he pulled away.

“I have something to tell you.”

 

“I am the prince of Team Plasma.”

My tongue felt heavy. “You…what?”

“Ghetsis is my retainer,” Loki continued. His gaze did not waver. “After my father, Laufey died, he raised my brothers and I with the intention to use us to secure the throne.”

“Unova hasn’t been a monarchy in centuries,” I protested.

“Yes,” Loki said, “but if he gets what he wants, then it won’t be a democracy for much longer.”

Whatever else I had to say died in my throat.

“Ever since I was little, all I knew was the castle—that gilded cage I was forbidden to leave. I was groomed to be a useless, spineless puppet who would dance if he said dance, jump if he said jump. My brothers became his two most powerful soldiers, completely loyal to him and only him. They would slit my throat if they knew I intended betrayal.

“A year ago, with the help of Zorua, I escaped…but it isn’t permanent. By now, you must know that ‘Pokémon liberation’ is just a front—the true aim of Ghetsis, and Team Plasma by proxy, is to control the entire Unova region using the power of the two legendary dragons…and the last remaining blood of Unova’s final monarchy: me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked hoarsely.

“Ghetsis is a ruthless man,” Loki said. He turned to look out the window. “A ruthless, greedy, ambitious man. So far, your deeds against Team Plasma haven’t been deemed a threat to him…but if you continue, if you don’t run away, he will not be so kind as to continue ignoring them. He will hunt you down to the ends of this earth if he must, and I won’t be able to protect you anymore.”

We reached the peak and began to descend. Loki turned back to me. In the darkness, all I could see was the soft glow of his eyes.

“I like you, Thor.”

My heart near stopped. Out of all the infinite possibilities, this was not how I imagined a confession to go.

“I like you,” he said again, “far more than I should. Far more than it’s _safe_ to. But because of that, I don’t want to see you gone. I don’t want you to disappear. So—”

I wished he would not continue. Loki looked as if he was about to cry.

“You must grow strong,” he told me. “Strong, and then stronger than anyone else. Stronger than any gym leader—strong enough to oppose the League, the champion, and then even stronger still. Strong enough so that, when they come after you, you’ll survive.

“If you intend to fight Team Plasma, promise me this.”

I didn’t even have to think.

“I promise.”

Only then did he smile, but it was still so unspeakably sad—I remember thinking rivers would run dry before his burden relieved.

“I have to go away soon,” Loki said, murmured across the space. Our hands found each other, and he sighed before he continued. “Ghetsis nears the last stages of his plan. I have to go back.”

“I’ll wait.”

He smiled. “Wait, or tear your way through the entire region?”

“Between you and me, a little of both.”

I squeezed his hand. He laughed.

 

Our cabin descended, and the lights of the fairgrounds returned. Loki stood and leaned across the distance between us.

I felt the softness of his lips brush mine.

“I’ll see you around, Thor,” he murmured.

Then, before I could recover, he let go of my hand and walked out the door, disappearing into the crowd. I could not find a single trace of him left.

On a whim, I turned to look back at the three-tier carousel. It was as bright as always, full of both lights and good cheer. For a moment, I thought nothing of it, but—

I turned back. Perched at the top, I could’ve sworn I saw the silhouette of a Honchkrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Father always said, “A trainer becomes a trainer through his trials, not his accolades.”

Considering it was an adage straight from the mouth of Odin Borrson himself, there was certainly weight to it. Not just anyone was able to say they were one of the strongest champions to ever grace the Pokémon League, and even fewer had the credentials and reputation to become an esteemed Pokémon professor upon retirement.

I do not seek to make excuses for myself. It has been a long time since I’ve been fifteen, and a long time since I’ve chosen the path of willful ignorance when confronted with my past faults. I merely attempt to explain now the circumstances that resulted in the high expectations I’d set for myself—that mountain I’d sought to climb, unaware that the more I looked up, straining for the top, the higher and more infinite the distance between I and that top grew.

(If there ever was a time for ignorance, it would be in youth. Ironically, youth is, perhaps, the most important time to rid oneself of ignorance and learn awareness and thoughtfulness.)

And so thus I began my journey in the shadow of Odin’s titanic pedestal. Thor _Odinson_ sought to gain no less than the championship, and he would do so in a splendid, indomitable manner, just as his father had, seeking fame but mostly glory, friendship but mostly stories to bring back home, honor, but more than honor, acknowledgement.

Then I arrived at Accumula Town, encountered Team Plasma for the first time, met Loki, and…

No one said the self-correction process was  _easy_.

“…Pokémon liberation!” the man standing at the front boomed.

A ripple moved through the crowd.

“We must liberate all Pokémon! Then, and only then, will humans and Pokémon truly be equals.”

At the time, I recalled glancing around, weaving needle and thread in search of a face as angry, rebellious, righteous as mine. Where had this fool crawled from, that he could stand upon a hill and preach to a crowd about separating friend from partner, rending a family in two, destroying a bond that had held sacred for thousands and thousands of years?

I thought of Jolteon slumbering in her Poké Ball. She had disobeyed Odin’s orders to journey with me, snuck into my bag and demanded I take her along. If someone even breathed the word ‘liberation’ around her, she would no doubt take them to task.

No human was more my equal than her. I could not stand such slander accusing otherwise.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, someone caught my eye.

They looked as if they’d come straight from Virbank’s underground and thought too little of public decency to change. Someone like that, I’d expect to walk with a slouch and a glaze to their eye—but I knew now why they made me pause.

Their attention was intently trained on the speaker up front, chin held high unlike the many downcast faces of the crowd. Whether they believed the madman or found him an utter waste of breath was not so clear—hands in their pockets, a lax pair of shoulders, and a genuine poker face belied little.

Then they turned, and our eyes met through the crowd.

I did not know who he was at the time. I didn’t even know his name was Loki, or that he liked pinap buns, or that he actually hated Virbank rock but quite liked ripping his jeans and wearing absurdly tiny crop tops. I didn’t know any of these things, but.

I _did_ remember thinking him beautiful.

It was not wholly on a physical level. True, I was initially drawn to how his clothes clung and skin of his stomach showed, the softness of his face and the cut of his eyes, but it was evidently clear he was too thin, and pale as an Absol’s coat with an aura just as ominous. Psychic power in humans was a little beyond my belief, but the inexplicable—the unexplainable—the wisp of the sense and the inevitable attraction to such a thing was very much real.

Beautiful things fell into my eye a dime a dozen and yet they could not hold half as much sway as he; I could not pick and piece the exact aspects where likability turned allure, but my eyes still sought to find them of their own accord. My mind, on the other hand, was more than content to call him ‘beautiful’ and think no deeper of it.

We must’ve stared at each other for a while, for the next thing I knew, the speakers had left and the crowd had dispersed. I admit I didn’t catch a word thereafter; my eye was only for him.

 _And_ , I thought, _his for me_ —it must’ve been, for he strode forward to bridge the gap between us.

“That made you angry,” he said, and his voice was slow, each word deliberate and carefully, perfectly neutral.

In retrospect, it reminded me of Odin.

“I should think so,” I said. “As if Pokémon liberation would solve anything. I have it on good authority that it would do the complete opposite!”

“Oh?” the boy asked. He tilted his head and a lock of hair fell in front of his face. “And whose authority is that?”

“Why, every Pokémon out there!” I declared.

Laughable—I understood now that he must’ve been laughing at me all this while. Imagine, arrogantly proclaiming to know every Pokémon’s thoughts and hearts to the very boy who could read those very hearts and understand them best. In retrospect, his ridicule of me was fully deserved.

The boy smiled, close-lipped, lovely, and though I did not realize it at the time, _mocking_ , and said, “Is that so? Let’s hear it, then.”

I knew a challenge when I heard one.

Disregarding the usual convention of the challenger releasing their Pokémon first, I removed the single Poké Ball from my waist, clicked the release button and threw. The hinge snapped open, and in a beam of red light, Jolteon appeared, raring for battle.

“Hmm,” the boy said. He didn’t look bothered by the foreign, evolved Pokémon, however.

Still, I took his pause for hesitance and smiled. “If you don’t have enough cash to take a loss, I’ll take something else in exchange.”

“And what might that be?”

“Your name,” I said, confident of my own victory.

That seemed to amuse him. “And what will _I_ get if _I_ win?”

“Well, what do you want?”

His eyes roved my form, and I could not help but grow smug.

“30K, cash,” he said.

I faltered.

He smiled. “Unless you can’t afford it? I’ll take your jacket instead.”

After acting so arrogant, I couldn’t very well take _back_ everything that I’d said. The only option was to win.

Master Trainers, Specialists, all of them visited the Professor Odin Borrson household in droves. There was no chance some trainer in backwater Accumula Town could best Jolteon and I.

“Deal,” I said.

The boy drew the Poké Ball at his waist. “It’s yours, Honchkrow!”

A second burst of confidence flooded my veins and I laughed. “Putting yourself at a type disadvantage? You really want to give me your name, don’t you?”

His response was noncommittal. If anything, that only served to further feed my arrogance—a mistake I would surely not make again, for what followed was only my complete, utter humiliation.

“Sand Attack and Thunder Shock, Jolteon!”

Immediately, Jolteon dug its paws into the dirt and kicked. Honchkrow dodged the spray easily—well within my expectations; flying types always did have an easier time of it—but that was the trap.

Just as Honchkrow made to dodge upwards, Jolteon had already charged up and fired a Thunder Shock right at the top of the dust cloud.

I smiled. One, perhaps two super-effective moves should end the battle quickly—or so I thought.

Just before the Thunder Shock struck true, Honchkrow disappeared and reappeared right in front of Jolteon.

“Dodge!” I shouted, but it was too late. The Sucker Punch had already hit.

And the boy hadn’t said a word.

It was then a sense of foreboding should’ve filled me, but I was still young, still untested. Instead, I grew more and more desperate—Jolteon, who could feel my moods better than I, grew desperate as well, and in that state, the result of the battle was inevitable.

The entire time, not one of our attacks landed.

Jolteon fell. I watched as she struggled to her feet, but a breeze could have blown her over then, never mind another Night Slash.

“Honchkrow—” the boy began, the first time I had heard him speak since the beginning of the battle.

I knew he was about to end it.

“—return.”

I blinked. It was not the _move_ Return, but a command to return. I watched as Honchkrow, enveloped by red light, returned to its Poké Ball. Then the boy replaced it at his waist, easy-as-you-please—like Jolteon wasn’t just a hair away from fainting, and Honchkrow hadn’t been just a breath’s span away from finishing her off—and walk forward.

He kneeled before Jolteon and extended a hand.

Out of reflex, I began to warn him; Jolteon did not take to strangers. She could be as snappish and testy as the electricity she commanded, proud and noble bearing perhaps bred into her by her Kalosian blood. My mother’s Sylveon, her mother, was a serene thing now, but I had heard she had been quite the personality in her youth.

However, an odd thing happened. She allowed him to pet her.

“Such a brutish trainer,” he mused. “And you still like him?”

“Wha—hey! Who’re you calling a brute?”

The boy didn’t even look up. Instead, he cocked his head, waited a beat as if he was listening to something, and then said, “Well, I suppose he’s not the worst. Giants are big and dumb, but they can have good hearts, I hear.”

“You—” The backhanded compliment made me flush.

The boy looked up. Mouth quirked to the side, coy and close-lipped; he licked his lips, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Then, he stood, extended a hand, and said, “Jacket.”

Losing 30K cash or a 30,000-dollar jacket, which was worse? I gritted my teeth and handed it to him. Arrogance and honesty were two different things, and for all my faults, I was raised an honest son. My defeat had been total and complete and no fault but my own.

So trainers this strong at my age existed… The mountain grew steeper, jagged, glacial.

He raised an eyebrow but took it still. Then he said, “Mm, a little big,” and held it up, pretending to inspect the leather.

 _Naturally_ it would be too big. He was as thin as a birch tree, and twice as pale, too.

Before I could say a word, the boy swung the jacket over his shoulders and slipped it on. The sleeves were much too long, so he didn’t even try to fit them and let the jacket slip down off his shoulders instead, revealing skin that was not half so tempting a minute ago.

I gaped.

He popped a hand on his hip and said, “Never seen a cute boy wear your clothes before?”

“Not…recently,” I said weakly, and wished Jolteon would hurry and bury me with a Sand Attack.

Jolteon mewled and pawed at my leg instead of the dirt. I was out of luck.

“Hmm,” he said. “Well then, I suppose it’s your lucky day.”

Then, he turned around and began to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” Edging on desperate, I shouted after him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got other places to be.” He tossed a rather nasty smile over his shoulder, sharp and twisted and proud. “My name’s Loki. A consolation prize. See you around, Thor—maybe next time, you’ll actually put up a fight.”

I stared after him until he was long gone from sight. By the time I looked back down at Jolteon, she seemed to be giving me a flat stare.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, and hurriedly scooped her up. “Guess we need a trip back to the PokéCenter.”

She mewled again and butted her head against the underside of my chin.

On the walk back, the thought hit like Thunder on a Sunny Day.

I had never given Loki my name.


End file.
